The Dressmaker
by FireSign
Summary: “Time is a dressmaker specializing in alterations.” A thousand different moments, a thousand different timelines. And the Doctor can see them all. When he returns to the Powell Estate to say goodbye, he allows himself to play those moments out.


**Title**: The Dressmaker

**Summary**: "Time is a dressmaker specializing in alterations." A thousand different moments, a thousand different timelines. And the Doctor can see them all. When he returns to the Powell Estate to say goodbye, he allows himself to play those moments out.

**Pairings:** Sometimes, it's Rose/Doctor. Sometimes it's Rose/Mickey. Sometimes it's something else entirely.

**Category: **Romance/Angst/Drama

**Spoilers:** Up to and including series two.

**Author's Notes**: Oh, I haven't been around in ages. I'm sure there are a ton of good fics that are waiting for me to read, and I'm holding my breath that this idea hasn't been used before. I hope not.

A little background on the story: in the beginning of November, I heard of NaNoWriMo, and decided to participate. This story is actually my second attempt at an entry, but neither story was completed due to outside influences. Still, the outline was there and lately it's been haunting me. So I figured I'd go ahead, post the first chapter at least and see if there was interest. So, sadly, I find myself hoping for reviews.

**Disclaimer**: Doctor Who is the property of the British Broadcasting Corporation, and I hope that they're too busy to notice my "borrowing" (or slaughtering) of their beloved Doctor Who characters. And I hope that the fans don't figure out how to track me down.

-----------------------

-----------------------

Chapter One: A Sliver of Time Isn't Enough To Say Good-Bye

-----------------------

_You must have been warned against letting the golden hours slip by; but some of them are golden only because we let them slip by. _  
-James M. Barrie

He wasn't a different man than he was before the events at Torchwood that fateful day. Not really. He was still The Doctor: last of the Timelords, rebel, healer, defender of the down trodden, The Oncoming Storm. But he still knew that something had fundamentally changed in his life. And so he had found his way back to the flat on Powell Estate, the one time home of Jacqueline and Rose Tyler.

The population of London was still scrambling like beheaded chickens, trying to find out where the Daleks had come from and trying to assess the damage. Rose would be added to the list of the dead, and the Tyler era of his life would come to an end. He would pack up her belongings, store them in some out of the way closet and find a new companion. He wouldn't forget her, as much as he would like to. It would be easier to forget, or so he imagined. He always thought this when a companion left though; it was old territory by now.

He paused in front of the door, bracing himself for what lay within. There was police tape across the door, but he carefully peeled it away, leaving it in a small pile on the floor. The Doctor sighed and pulled out the sonic screwdriver from his coat pocket. The sonic screwdriver whirred quietly and the tip glowed its distinctive blue as he jimmied the lock, and there was a click as it opened. He swung the door open, glancing up and down the hall before stepping inside.

_Deal or No Deal _was on the telly, which had been muted but not turned off. The barely perceptible hum is the only sound in an otherwise silent flat; it wasn't until know he realized how subtle the sounds of the Tyler home were that made it a home. Humans breathing, pipes rattling and Jackie muttering under her breath about one thing or another. But none of that is there now, and the flat seemed dead.

The Doctor wandered into the kitchen, where mugs had been set out for a cup of tea. A bag of biscuits had been taken out of the cupboard, but Jackie had not put them on the plate yet. It was quaint, and a little too domestic for his taste; but it was also familiar, and that had to count for something.

In the living room, Rose's backpack of dirty laundry was still leaning against the sofa, waiting to be washed. To be cleansed of the dirt from a thousand different planets. It was a stillframe of the Tyler life, a snapshot that would fade with time.

On the mantle was a collection of photographs, mostly of Rose by herself but the occasional one with Mickey or her mother. There was even one from Christmas with The Doctor, which he picked up for closer examination. The amazing thing about photographs, he had learned, was how there could be so much life in one. How much you could tell about the subjects, and how little of that would be accurate.

A body language expert would probably read more into Rose's open smile and invasion of his personal space that there was; truth was, she was reaching for the crisps when her mother had come over and harped loudly about how she needed a "photo for your nan, since you never go see her." Rose had rolled her eyes and smiled, not bothering to straighten up. That had left the Doctor in the shot; when Jackie had realized this, she insisted on another, with the Doctor smiling properly. The groans coming from the Doctor and Rose were in perfect unison, and resulted in laughter. Jackie had taken the opportunity to snap a picture while they were unaware, and the photograph in his hands was the result.

The Doctor sighed, placing the frame back on the mantle carefully. Disturbing the flat at all would lead to dangerous questions, and he couldn't risk that. This Torchwood was probably severely crippled, if not dead; but that did not mean that there weren't other Torchwoods out there, or organizations like it. If he had learned one thing in his life, it would be that there was always someone out to get you. And you always had to keeping on moving.

The byzantium weather predictor Rose had picked up at the market was resting on the mantle as well, and the Doctor knew he could not leave that behind. He couldn't leave anything that could possibly endanger Rose Tyler or her loved ones, even if they were far beyond the reach of mortal law. So he picked it up, holding it in his palm and marvelling at the coolness of its surface, before slipping it into the pocket of his overcoat. Cold meant rain, and he wasn't surprised. It seemed fitting; the universe could mourn the loss of Rose Tyler, and cleanse itself of the remnants of the battle between Daleks and Cybermen all in one fell swoop. Rain was remarkable in that respect.

It was time to say goodbye. Time to leave. Time to file the death of Rose Tyler as one of those unfortunate events he could not prevent, to be used to keep him distant from future companions. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply and reminding himself that stepping out of time was a very bad idea. There were dangers lurking there, his own personal gingerbread house. Because when he did it, all those hypothetical alternate lives he could have led are almost within reach.

There were a thousand different paths this universe could have taken, one for every decision or event no matter how small, and it's so easy to reach out for them, to surrender oneself in possibilities. And here in this tiny little flat in London in the early 21st century, where she had lived out so much of her life, the possibilities were endless. And so very, very close. And so, against his better judgement and not knowing if he wanted to bring himself back, the Doctor stepped out of time.

----


End file.
